Sketch
by Flute Chick
Summary: My first and most likely last oneshot in second person. Enjoy! Especially if you like CHEESE! I don't mean the real kind, I mean like a cheesy story. There's no real way to describe this ... please read! The rating almost doesn't matter except for some depressing thoughts! EXCLAMATION POINT!


**Ugh . . . this . . . is . . . awful. The idea would not go away, and it ended so cheesily that I need to go work on my other fanfics before I die of drowning in cheese. First time writing in second person, and probably last. Enjoy ... if that's possible. **

* * *

. . .

While you might not have been the most outspoken student throughout the school year, you weren't stupid.

Okay, so maybe you aren't a genius, but still!

Every day you passed by him in the halls, saw the pictures he took in the newspaper, and listened to the drama as it passed by. When the Bugle had posted the truth, you'd been ecstatic—perhaps the idiotic façade would end? But no, some idiot who worshipped Spiderman, yet bullied the Parker kid, ruined it. You watched, amazed, with each new headline, and overheard the conversations at the lunch table. You watched him rush out of rooms with some flimsy excuse. However, you didn't dare approach him. Why would you? The people closest to him would only be put in danger—and that included you if you said a word.

You sighed, staring out your window. Living in an apartment on the level you did, you often saw him swinging downtown. You were always quite exasperated that no one had figured it out like you had.

Is it that hard to recognize someone's voice? Did no one notice when his costume got torn up, there was plenty of his face left visible for all? Was it that hard to account for one missing person while Spidey fought?

You sighed and went back to reading on the fire escape outside your room. Someone was down there—Ah, him. This was one of the many places he'd gone to peel off the normal clothes over his suit. Averting your eye back to your book, you finished the chapter and tore a piece of paper from your notebook, and began to sketch him as he struggled to find the mask in his backpack. With the costume, of course, minus the mask. But then, you got a wicked idea, smiling evilly, and wrote on the bottom of the sketch of Spiderman, unmasked.

_Your secret's safe with me, Peter Parker. _

Folding it up and preparing to throw it like a paper airplane, you knew that the words were true. You also hid back in your room (still pink from childhood days, although it was starting to look on the grey side instead) and watched him open it up, look around in shock, then carefully slip it into his bag. You smiled, knowing he'd be jumpy, but also knowing you wouldn't dare tell a secret that wasn't yours to tell, especially if the rest of the world should have figured it out by now. You'd keep the promise.

After all, there were benefits to being the quiet one. Sometimes, you got to laugh at the world to yourself, knowing those things that you must listen to notice. Listen, of course, and watch.

. . .

You smiled to yourself, sitting alone at lunch. Your friends were out today, but that was okay. That way, you could find out the latest news in peace.

Harry and Gwen broke up, but were still okay friends, and Harry started going out with Liz. That was good. Now if Peter would just swallow whatever idiocy he has and ask Gwen out . . . thing would be just peachy. Of course, it'd be nice if he went with MJ, too, but she was dating someone else you vaguely heard about the day before spring break. Peter was walking with an odd limp, which somewhat worried you, as you recalled seeing Spiderman in a nasty fight this morning with some street thugs. With horror, you realized that the silver flash you must have seen was a knife. And Peter was wearing black pants. _To hide . . . what? A wound, maybe? Shouldn't he have that looked at?_ You were no doctor, but that much was obvious. Scooting to the edge of your table, you leaned over and whispered.

"Peter, you okay? You look like you're going to be sick." And he did, he was pale and grimacing, through trying to hide it.

"Huh?" he managed to answer.

"Cut the stupid talk. You limped in here. I don't know what happened, but there's something wrong with your right leg, and unless you want me to drag you, unconscious, out of here, I suggest you get it looked at."

"Uh, okay." He looked scared, and you smirked. Sure, you barely know the kid personally, but you _do_ know his biggest secret.

"I'll cover for you even if you don't want to explain how you got it. There are plenty of thugs in town perfectly willing to beat a guy up for nothing." He smiled gratefully and shakily stood.

"I don't feel too great guys," he said as if he'd suddenly realized it himself. He was turning from white to pale green. You let him lean on your shoulders as he limped out.

"Pete, what happened?" asked Gwen, horrified.

"I bet I know. I thought I heard noise in the alley outside my apartment this morning, but I'd figured it was just the usual shouting match of my neighbors." Well, that wasn't a lie, since your neighbors did fight—annoyingly kept you up at night, too.

"Didn't want to make anyone worry. Thought it would heal on its own," he muttered.

"Idiot," you muttered back, "I thought you were smarter than that. Up you go, to the nearest nurse."

And that was how you became friends with Peter Parker, a. k. a. the Spectacular Spiderman.

. . .

_Months Later, during the summer_

You'd had enough with Harry's constant ranting about how Spiderman was an evil menace, how his father was dead thanks to the web crawler, blah, blah, blah. In fact, on your vacation to Florida, you managed to snap a picture of the man and get him arrested in that state. When you shared this news, Harry quickly transferred his anger to his dad.

"But Spiderman is still a menace. For all he knew, my dad _did_ die. If he were a good guy he'd turn himself in."

"Unless it was an accident," you said irritably, "And maybe you ought to think twice about that, Harry. Spiderman's a good guy. He's saved Gwen quite a few times. 'Course, though I'd never tell him, I saw him, unmasked, in the alley next to my apartment. I only saw the back of his head. But he goes there a lot. Vents his feelings to the stray cats—not unlike myself, really—and he sounds like an average guy. You know, minus the people that want to kill him." Gwen stared at you, Liz coughed, and you think Peter was going to pass out. You smirked.

"I read books on the fire escape you see. And anyway, I've seen his face, and he's our age at least. Obviously, he's got enough to deal with, not counting the crime fighting. After all, who wants to deal with drama?"

Peter seemed to be hyperventilating, but no one noticed but you.

"Want to come over to my house, guys?" you ask casually. Maybe you could beat Harry at COD or Minecraft. He was always boasting about his skill.

"Sure," they all responded. You were glad you didn't have a pigsty at home. Even if mom wasn't there often . . . you weren't a total mess, but not a neat freak either. Harry asks about where you saw Spiderman. You pointed out the fire escape and picked up a book, lounging on the couch as Harry lost to MJ. You smirked when he gawked at her. Looks like you're not the only girl that's any good at games like that.

Gwen was with Pete, out on the fire escape, no doubt making out while you were finishing an English Literature reading assignment. Shakespeare didn't give you a headache normally, but you couldn't concentrate. Suddenly you hear a horrible groan of metal and a deafening crash. You sprint out to see what had happened.

Well, the old thing had barely been able to hold your weight alone. Two people? Forget it.

. . .

You waited in the hospital, fidgeting like crazy, before the doctor came back.

"Gwen Stacy is on her way to recovery. She will be back to normal in a few hours. He'd somehow managed to protect her from the worst of the debris. Peter . . . isn't doing well. He's conscious, but certain organs in his body are going to fail unless he gets the surgery he needs. He refuses to let any of the doctors near him to knock him out, though," he said, "and if he keeps it up . . . he'll die by tomorrow." You stand.

"Can we see him?"

"Of course."

Harry and MJ follow you and the doctor. This was partially your fault, as it was on your property that they were injured.

"Peter?" I asked, coming in the room.

"I'm here," he said, "If the IV's and machines hooked up to me don't give it away." He looked normal, if a little pale, but I knew better. The injury was on the inside, caused by a lot of rusty metal. No amount of webs could make those less heavy.

"Tiger, what's with you? Why won't you let the doctors help you?"

"I heard them talking. Even if I got through the surgery, it'd cost too much for Aunt May and I to handle, and there's only a slight chance it'd work." Without thinking, you glare at him.

"So why in the name of sanity are you _giving up_? Why aren't you taking the chance you have? Isn't any chance better than none?"

"But here's the thing—and I think you know this—the chances for a lot of people are slim. I'd have to have a huge amount of one rare blood type donated, and that could be used for another patient just as much as me. I have choice." You walk up to his bed now, and get in his face.

"So this about being the _hero_ again. And I don't care whatever speech you have to tell me off, Parker, because I've known for a long, long time exactly what I'm talking about. Whatever noble reason you have for dying, I want you to listen to me. How many lives are saved each week by Spiderman?" You asked this in a low voice, but in the silence of the room, they all heard.

"A lot," answered MJ, "Too many to count."

"How many people have died because Spiderman lived?"

"One—" MJ and Harry had by now been utterly confused.

"—None, Harry, and you know it—the point is, and I think you'll get this, Pete: You have to be responsible for your own life as well as everyone else's when it's in your hands. Don't you dare try to convince me otherwise. I will pay for the operation myself and live the rest of my life in debt if I have to. _You. Will. Live._" You growl.

"But what if I—"

"If you give me that 'what if I don't want to' line, I will punch you. Injured or not." Of course you wouldn't, but you kept enough malice in your voice to make it real.

Then MJ spoke up.

"What was with the Spiderman references?" You look at Peter.

"I'm quite a Spiderman fan. And Peter's quite close with him. I'd figure he'd get the message." You say it slowly. No one in their right mind would believe you unless they wanted to.

"That's idiotic," Peter told them, "And since we're alone in here, I suppose you guys wouldn't be too mad. The sketch is in my bag over there. I guess you could say I finished it."

You strode over to the bag on the floor in the corner and picked the sketch up. Your drawing was finished, colored. And below your note, it was responded to.

_I trust you. –Spiderman _

You hold it up to Harry and Mary Jane. They stare, unable to comprehend that it's read.

"Please tell me you aren't serious," Harry growled. Peter only stared at him.

"Your father broke your left leg. You told people it had been your right so that in case you needed to be sure of someone's identity—your father's or Spiderman's—you'd know."

Then the curtain behind you all shifts—Gwen.

"Then you _are_ Spiderman, aren't you, Pete?"

. . .

_Years later_

You stand on the sidewalk.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" asks a voice. You don't even need to turn around, but you do anyway.

"Harry Osborne. Or do you go by the Goblin?" you mutter.

"I seem to remember Spiderman wearing a red and blue costume?"

You feign surprise.

"I do believe you must have mistaken me for someone else, Mr. Green Goblin, because unless you were blind you'd realize _I'm not Spiderman._" And you weren't.

You happened to wear a black costume rather like Spidey's, but you got a different nickname—thankfully, not Venom Jr.

"Oh, you're Arachne. The girl spider." Just because your ponytail stuck out did not make that obvious to most. But yes, it was better than "Spider Woman" or "Spider Girl". Speaking of which . . .

"That's definitely not the name I would go for. 'Girl spider'. Ugh. Black widow sounds so much more terrifying," and with that you tied him up in a web and hung him upside down from a street lamp.

"Not up to fighting, are you, Harry?"

"Quit calling me Harry! How did you figure out it was me, anyway?"

"You and your father are very alike. You know me anyway," you mutter.

"Not . . . Gwen?" You snort.

"MJ?" Ridiculous.

"Do I _look_ like a redhead to you, idiot?"

"Hm. And you're certainly not Liz. Where's Spidey himself? He hasn't been around a lot ever since—"

"Ever since you were an idiot to him in the hospital." His face contorted with rage.

"It's _you_," he spat.

"Yes. Me." He broke out of the web and you fought. He had you pinned, when a web caught him from the back and bound him to the ground. You looked up and smiled.

"Great timing, wall-crawler. He was getting pesky. I miss when he was our harmless friend."

"Me, too. How are you hanging in there, Harry," he asked to the newly captured villain. He glared.

"Great. Wonderful. Just spectacular, Spiderman."

* * *

**TOO MUCH CHEESE! Okay, hopefully that won't happen again. Pick a name for the person if you want, they're kind of just random. Or, insert your own name if you're a girl, or a similar name to yours if you're a guy. Then insert that every time you wanted to know their name. Agh! The plot bunnies! They got ahold of the cheese! Nuuuuuu!**

**... I think I need to go to bed before I crack up anymore. Later, amigos!**

*******Flute Chick*******


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